


More Bad Habits

by LandOfMistAndSecrets



Series: (Octopath) Tumblr Prompt Fills & Ficlets (NSFW) [7]
Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LandOfMistAndSecrets/pseuds/LandOfMistAndSecrets
Summary: Fluffy alfion content for the shipping soul.





	More Bad Habits

The sun is long risen by the time Alfyn wakes, streaking in all warm and bright and uninvited through the windows. He makes a pathetic whining sound and throws an arm over his face, like if he can just keep it out a little longer, maybe he can fool himself into falling back to sleep. But the room is just a tad too warm, now, he’s got this fine layer of sweat pooling at the small of his back, and he sighs and flings his arms open and kicks off the heavy blankets -- only to find they aren’t blankets, at all. 

Therion shifts atop him, grumbling something Alfyn can’t quite parse, and it all comes rolling back. He grins so wide it practically splits his face. Shit. Therion. Him and Therion. Therion and him. 

“Morning,” he says, softly, bringing his hands up to slide affectionately through that soft, pretty hair he has, ghost white and cut messy and always hanging into his face. He buries his fingers in it, running his nails lightly over Therion’s scalp, and he feels Therion shiver against him and lift his head. Alfyn bends his own neck so he can meet the glare he knows is coming with a big, probably goofy sort of grin. 

Therion’s brows furrow up, a little wrinkle digging in between them, and Alfyn laughs. 

“Never known you to sleep in so late,” he teases, arching his brows. 

“Just what I needed,” Therion replies, and then he takes a second mid-quip to let loose a jaw-cracking yawn. “More bad habits. Thanks a lot.” He settles back down, pressing his cheek into Alfyn’s bare chest, and Alfyn is certain he must be able to hear his heart hammering away in there, knocking and rattling against his ribcage. Not that he’s nervous, not exactly. Excited? That’s closer, but still not quite it. 

“You… ah. You sleep good?” he asks, though it’s not exactly the question he had in mind. 

“Mm,” Therion responds, which Alfyn thinks probably means something like yeah, sure. Good enough. 

“You, um.” His face goes all hot, he’s a little light headed. Gosh. It’s just a fight or flight response, and isn’t it funny how easy the brain tricks the body, like that? He swallows, hard. “Last night, you… liked… that?” He sucks in a breath the second the words are out, and holds it. 

Therion goes a little tense atop him, and Alfyn drags his hands down out of his hair and over his shoulders and down his back, gently, soothing. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, quickly, the words tumbling out of him on the rush of his exhale. “You don’t gotta answer, it’s all right.” 

“No, I --” Therion lifts his head again, peering up into his face. “I mean, it’s not that. It’s… just, I...” his nose wrinkles and his eyes squish into slits and his lashes fan out over his cheeks and he’s so damn pretty, so fucking beautiful, even when he’s making silly, sorta concerning faces up at him like that. 

He’s so busy thinking about how amazing that is, he doesn’t realize exactly what Therion’s doing when he pulls himself up and over him on his hands and knees until he’s already brought their lips together, until Therion’s lips are already parting all warm and soft against his and he makes this surprised but oh-so-pleased sort of sound and his heart and his brain just go wild, they go crazy, he can’t breathe around how happy he is. 

Minutes go by in the space of seconds and Therion pulls back, just a bit, studying him. His lips are wet, Alfyn can’t help but notice, tracing their shape with his eyes. He licks his own and grins up at him, moving his hands up and down his skinny little back, fingers tracing mindlessly over every bump and ridge and puckered scar. So many. Too many to count. 

Therion reaches down and anchors his hands on his shoulders, his clever little fingers gripping him tight. That metal band around his wrist rattles, and Alfyn sees him wince, sees his eyes dart to it and back again. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Alfyn says, studying his face. His hair hangs down at this angle, and he can see all of him like he rarely gets to -- that other eye of his, slightly unfocused, that gnarled scar from cheek to forehead, that little divot it makes in his eyebrow, there. 

“I wasn’t worried,” Therion says, and that scar pulls when he frowns. He wants to touch it, to run his thumb over it, to press his lips up to it, to go back in time and fix it for him, to go back even further and prevent it from ever happening. Therion shifts in place and pushes himself up, and then he ducks his head and his hair falls back into place and it’s gone, again, and for a second Alfyn worries the moment’s gone with it. 

But then he smiles, small and soft and genuine. “I liked it,” he says, and Alfyn’s heart and stomach do these simultaneously triple backflips down inside him, and that can’t be at all healthy, Aelfric save him. “I, uh. I like you,” Therion adds, dropping his gaze and practically mumbling. “Obviously. So,” he says, pushing himself up and off him, swinging his legs out off the bed entirely, “...don’t make me regret it.”

“I’d never dream of it,” Alfyn assures him, and that’s it, he thinks, his big dumb goofy grin is permanent, now, and maybe that wouldn’t be such a problem except his damn cheeks ache already. Muscle fatigue. No cure for that but a little bit of rest, but he’s never gonna stop. Therion shoots him this look, fond and exasperated both, and Alfyn bends his arms up behind his head and wiggles his brows at him, dragging his gaze slowly and deliberately over every bit of his body, now that it’s all there and on display. 

Therion scoffs and rolls his eyes at him, and then he turns and _bends over_ , and Alfyn’s breath exits his body so quick he’s not so sure his mortal soul didn’t fly right out with it. Shit. Fuck. He sits up, Therion turns his head and looks at him, and he’s smirking, and moving, and -- _throwing something at him --_

His shirt clobbers him right in the face, and that’s bad enough, but Therion’s laughter, low and rich and sweet… that’s worse. That, like always, gets him right in the heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [@sealticge](http://sealticge.tumblr.com) / [@octopath-after-dark](http://octopath-after-dark.tumblr.com) (nsfw)


End file.
